The cutthroat w-2

by Jason Frost

  Nurse Havczech laughed as she turned to Eric. "She's quite a card, your lady."

  "Keeps me in more stitches than an eight-inch knife wound."

  Nurse Havczech stared dumbly at Eric. "That supposed to be funny?"

  "Don't mind him," Tracy explained. "He's the ayatollah of comedy."

  Nurse Havczech would have doubled over with laughter if her stomach hadn't been in the way. "You're a crack-up, lady. What my mom used to call 'the genuine article.'"

  "It's nice to be appreciated," Tracy said, winking at Eric.

  "Now you go and drink up that concoction, honey. Help you relax and get some sleep. Doctor sent it over."

  "Blackjack?"

  Nurse Havczech made a face at that name. "Yeah, that's what he calls himself."

  Tracy frowned at the steaming mug.

  "Now, don't fret. It's just a little distilled maple syrup made into a tea. We use it around here as an anesthetic."

  Tracy looked at Eric, who shrugged. "Kind of a Mickey Finn," he said.

  "Yeah, that's right, honey. Knock you on your ass for a few hours and give that hip of yours a chance to relax."

  Tracy held her breath while she sipped the hot liquid. It slid across her tongue and down her throat with a soothing warmth. She took a breath. "Not too bad. Tastes a little like sweet and sour pork. I'm surprised he didn't send a few joints of grass along."

  Nurse Havczech made a stern face like a mother defending her child. "Doctor might be a little bizarre, young lady, but he's still a damn fine medical man. He was one of the best in the state before this whole crazy mess and I won't hear anything bad about him."

  "But just when his medical skills are most needed he's thrown them away to become a pirate."

  Nurse Havczech sighed. "Peculiar, sure. But there's a lot about the situation you just don't know. Can't understand."

  "Like what? Help me understand why a mature man with any ethics would do what he's done. Become what he's become."

  "Can't," she said with a finality that left no doubt. She pressed her wrinkled lips together as if to demonstrate her inflexibility.

  Eric lifted the only chair in the room, a gray metal folding chair, and slid it next to Nurse Havczech. "How bad is his cancer?"

  Nurse Havczech stared at Eric, and he could see the pain in her old watery eyes. She deflated a few inches with another heavy sign and sat down. "How'd you know?"

  "Guessed. His baldness is a little patchy, like someone who's been through chemotherapy. And the marijuana. He didn't seem to enjoy it as a recreational treat. He seemed to need the relief."

  "We grow some upstairs just for him. He'd never smoked before, so he's still getting used to it."

  Tracy looked stunned. "That explains what he said before. That the quakes are the best thing that could have happened to him."

  "Yeah, honey, that's the cynical way he's been since I've known him, but occasionally something else slips through. Something real fine. As a school nurse I'd had occasion to hear something bad about every pediatrician in Southern California. But I never did hear anything bad about Doctor."

  "Then his whole pirate thing is just a game?"

  "No, ma'am, not for a minute." She shook her head briskly. "He's one tough mother. He caught a couple of Rhino's crew once trying to sneak in here at night. A man and a woman 'bout your ages. He killed 'em both right on the spot. A regular execution. Nearly took the guy's head off with that saber of his. That thing's not just ornamental, you know." She looked at Eric. "He's got a mean streak in him, a crazy urge to thumb his nose at the world. He's mad, goddamn it. Before the quakes he was being treated and there was some hope they'd be able to operate and clean him out. Save his life. But now…" She shrugged hopelessly. "Can you blame him for being what he is? He had a basketball scholarship to Temple University, was a cinch for the NBA. Got drafted in the lottery, sent to Vietnam in time to get a bullet through the ankle. Poof, no more basketball. Became a doctor instead. Then this cancer shit." She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Told me once that as a kid he saw Mary Martin play Peter Pan on TV, and for two years after, all he used to dream of was being Peter Pan and going to Never-Never Land. Said he used to cry when he had to go to school because he wouldn't be able to think about Never-Never Land at school. Well," she smiled, "he finally got his wish, though Lord knows this is a poor substitute for Never-Never Land."

  Nurse Havczech hoisted her plump body from the uncomfortable chair and shuffled toward the door. "Got to get back to my patients. We do quite a walk-in business there."

  "Thanks for the tea, or whatever it is," Tracy called.

  "Thank Dr. Blackjack," Nurse Havczech chuckled, shaking her head as she closed the door behind her.

  "Quite a story," Tracy said, obviously impressed.

  "Yeah," Eric nodded. "If it's true."

  "God, you're cynical. Like him."

  "Just cautious."

  Tracy stretched out on the bedding, setting the mug on the floor near her head. It was no longer steaming. "We're going, aren't we? To Liar's Cove."

  "That's not for me to decide alone. What do you think?"

  "I think you still have a yen for the samurai sister."

  "God, Tracy."

  "Is it the danger? Knowing she carries a knife?" Tracy pulled the steel blade from her pocket. "Hell, I carried your arch support in my underwear. Can't get much more erotic than that."

  Eric laughed. "The only feeling I have about Angel is regret that I didn't kill her back in 'Nam."

  "What do you feel about me?"

  "You already know."

  Tracy lifted her eyes toward him, patted the blanket next to her. "Show me."

  "Christ, Tracy, your hip."

  "Show me."

  ***

  Eric lifted the glass bell jar from the lantern and puffed out the tiny flame. The room winked into a grayish dark that still allowed them to see each other. Long, thin slivers of orange from the cracks in the door crisscrossed the dark like photo-sensor guards in clothing stores.

  Eric tended to Tracy first, helping ease her out of the jeans and sweat shirt. He could see the pain wringing her face as she peeled the denim from around her hip wound, but there was no use in trying to talk any sense into her. She was like Annie that way. Once she decided something was important, there was no turning back. As she shifted on the pile of blankets, one of the rods of orange light flickered across her face like a sci-fi laser beam. It lit up the moisture in her eyes and he could see how important this was to her. Not just sex, but a ceremony. A bonding, an exchange of silent vows.

  When she was finally naked, the white bandage taped to her hip in a lump like a jellyfish, Eric quickly shed his own clothing. He stretched out next to her. Carefully she rolled herself onto her good hip, exposing her back to him. She brought the knee of her leg up into a frozen ballet dancer's stance, only prone. Eric snuggled next to her, his body hair brushing against her smooth skin. He hung an arm over her stomach and was surprised at the hardness of the muscles there. It excited him, lifting his penis until it poked insistently against the back of her thigh.

  She chuckled and began humming "Hail to the Chief."

  "Jezz, how romantic," he said.

  She didn't have to see him to know he was smiling. She wriggled her buttocks and back closer, pressing herself flush against his solid body.

  Eric let his hand brush lightly over her breast, swirling lazy circles like a child doodling in the sand. Feeling the nipples grow longer, harder. He thought about the crops growing upstairs, preferred the ones they were raising right here. He cupped her breast in his rough hand and massaged the nipple between thumb and forefinger, pinching harder and harder until he feared he might be hurting her, knowing he wasn't. Her breathing was shallow now, a husky panting.

  She reached behind her, groped for his penis, finally snagging it with a firm grasp. She squeezed and he could feel her callouses and blisters pricking his tender skin. It made him harder, hungrier. Still, he was cautious.
r />   "I'm wounded, Eric, not dead," she said. "We can do the slow gentle bit later. Right now, I just want to get laid."

  He smiled, dipped his head over her shoulder to kiss her. Their eyes were open, staring deep into each other's as their tongues bumped like playful dolphins. The orange light sizzled along Eric's scar and she squeezed him harder, using her other hand to crush his hand tighter over her breast.

  "God, Eric, it's been so long."

  He understood. The mechanics of sex were much different in this California than they had been before. No more birth-control pills. Prophylactics were rare anymore. Those that cared, reverted to the rhythm method, the only one that didn't require any devices. Big Bill Tender-wolf had once told him about using stoneseed roots to suppress the estrous cycle, but Big Bill had preferred a vasectomy. Eric could have had a vasectomy done at University Camp when they were being encouraged, but he'd seen no need to since Annie was no longer able to give birth after Timmy. Now he was glad he hadn't. What if anything should happen to Timmy? Would he ever want to start over again with another family? With Tracy?

  It made him guilty to even think such thoughts. As long as Timmy was alive, that was all that mattered.

  He skated his hand over her buttocks, nestling between her legs into her soft pubic hairs. They were matted, wet and sticky, and he calculated how long since they'd last made love. Two weeks, three. They'd run out of rubbers, the little boxes of Trojans they'd carried in their backpack along with other necessities of life. He hadn't used one since and that made him feel like a high school student, fumbly and sweaty. When they'd run out, Tracy had just passed her menstrual cycle. She was within days of her period; he could relax.

  Tracy lifted her leg slightly, guiding his engorged penis to her. The head bumped, then skidded along the slippery path, disappearing.

  Their movements were smooth, less energetic than usual in deference to Tracy's wound. But there was something almost more passionate about this, a sense of ritual that touched both of them. He could feel the filmy sweat bristling over her skin as they rocked together. Her eyelids fluttered as usual, her mouth wide open and sucking air. Morbidly it reminded him of when she was drowning earlier. Then all the air rushed out of her lungs and she clenched her teeth. He felt her vaginal muscles rippling like a strong tide along his penis. He hurried a few more strokes, tensed his buttocks, and gushed bubbling lava into her.

  They hugged without words for a while. He watched her eyes close, her face relax into sleep. Her lips puffed loosely. Watching her in the dark, he realized something he'd avoided accepting for too long. "I love you," he whispered.

  She opened her eyes and turned to face him. "Gotcha." She smiled.

  He smiled back, pulled a ragged blanket over them.

  Book Three:

  LIAR'S COVE

  Let me have the fire. The first thing is to purify the place.

  – Homer

  13.

  "How's the hip?"

  Tracy looked up from The Argo's railing where she'd been leaning, watching the water foam and boil against the slick hull. "Hi, Blackjack."

  "Hi yourself. Getting plenty of rest?"

  "Too much. I'm antsy."

  He smiled. "Good sign. Just don't try to overdo it."

  "Considering where we're going and what we're going to do when we get there, that's kinda dumb advice, wouldn't you say?"

  He laughed, his mouth wide and his dark eyes twinkling. "Yeah, I guess so. Where's your partner in crime?"

  "Eric? He's sitting over there, on the other side of that sail. See him?"

  Blackjack cupped his hands around his eves like binoculars, shading them from the brisk wind and glare of the sun. "Right. What's he doing?"

  "Thinking, I guess."

  "He's a tough man," Blackjack said, admiration tinting the words.

  "He's a good man," Tracy corrected. "There's a difference."

  "Well, let's go interrupt his meditation and discuss the dull business of kidnapping."

  Tracy limped across the deck using the special cane Eric had fashioned for her out of the remains of that Piper Cub. It clomped on the deck of the ship as she walked after Blackjack, and it made her feel a little like Captain Ahab pacing with his peg leg, raking the ocean for Moby Dick. Her hip still alternated between dull throb and sharp ache, but both seemed to be lessening significantly. She could even run now. More painful was the knowledge that she would walk with this slight limp for the rest of her life. What disturbed her the most wasn't so much the fact of the limp, but that it was a flaw that she could never improve. It wasn't like dry hair or oily skin or chubby thighs or bad posture. All of them defects that had plagued her at one time in her adolescence, all of which she'd overcome. The only thing that had helped her live with it so far was Eric's support. He helped her without pampering her. Didn't give her the chance to feel sorry for herself. Sometimes he even called her Peggy, short for peg leg. Others on board thought him cruel, but it made her laugh.

  "How do you like our colors, Ravensmith?" Blackjack asked.

  Eric was sitting cross-legged on the deck, wrapping something around his wrist. He glanced up at the flag being hoisted up. Skull and crossbones. "Catchy."

  "Great, huh? I bought it at Liar's Cove. Somebody had taken it from Disneyland."

  "What's that, Eric?" Tracy asked, pointing at his wrist.

  He quickly unwrapped the leather thongs attached to a small leather patch and held it up. "A slingshot. I stripped the leather from one of those executive chairs back at the farm settlement." He started rewrapping it around his wrist, knotting the end with one hand and his teeth. When he was finished it looked like a crude leather watchband. "This way even if they take my bow, I'll still have something."

  "Nice," Blackjack approved. "That's just the kind of soldier's thinking we hired you for."

  Eric looked up at him. "I heard you were a soldier too. In 'Nam."

  "Nope," Blackjack shook his head vigorously. "I was there, but never any kind of a soldier. I was a CO."

  "A CO.?" Tracy asked.

  "Conscientious objector. It wasn't a dodge, either. I really was morally opposed to any kind of violence. I'd had enough as the only black kid in a fancy white neighborhood in Philly. Only my draft board didn't see it that way. It didn't compute that a nigger wouldn't take to fighting like he would to dancing. So, like magic I was transformed from a promising basketball player to a medic."

  "What happened to that conscientious objector?" Eric asked, looking up at the skull-and-crossbones flag flapping overhead.

  Blackjack laughed bitterly. "The kid's grown up."

  "Has he?" Eric stood up, stared across the bow of the ship at the wedge of land on the horizon. "That it?"

  "Yup, that's Liar's Cove."

  Eric turned his head to face Blackjack, his reddish-brown eyes glowing. "That can't be Liar's Cove."

  "Afraid so," he smiled.

  Tracy squinted toward the horizon as the land grew larger, clearer. She looked confused. "You know what that looks like?"

  "Yes," Eric said. "Hearst Castle."

  14.

  "Like hell!" Blackjack barked, grabbing Eric's shoulder and shoving him sharply.

  Eric stumbled backward a few steps on the wet deck before regaining his balance. His shoulder tingled where Blackjack had grabbed him. The strength in the man startled Eric. "That's the way it's going to be. Get used to the idea."

  "You're nuts. I'm not leaving my whole crew on the ship while the three of us go waltzing in there alone."

  "It's the only way. From what you've described, there are at least a couple hundred permanent residents here, and a couple hundred others visiting for business or pleasure. Even with the ten other crew members you've got we're hopelessly out-numbered. But as just three people, they won't consider us much of a threat. We'll have a chance."

  Blackjack massaged his temples, his face pinched together as if fighting a migraine headache. "This is where Lee Marvin says, 'Maybe one man can get behin
d enemy lines and do the job a whole army couldn't.' " His eyes blazed with pain and anger.

  "No, this is where you let me do what I agreed to do. Kidnap Angel."

  Blackjack sprinkled some marijuana on a Zig-Zag paper, rolled, licked, and lit it. He tossed the book of matches to Eric. "From Rachel's collection. She used to take them from every restaurant and hotel she and her husband visited. She has a gallon jar filled with them. It's the only thing she saved from their house when it was destroyed. Can you imagine that?"

  It was a rhetorical question, so Eric didn't answer. He knew what was going through Blackjack's mind. Despite her pleading and arguments, Rachel had been left behind to continue directing the farm. Eric had noticed the relief on Blackjack's face when she'd finally agreed not to come along.

  Eric read the matchbook cover-Reuben E. Lee Restaurant and Cocktail Lounge-and tossed it back to Blackjack.

  Blackjack sucked in a cloud of smoke. "Sorry about the misunderstanding. You're the boss right now. That's what I'm paying you for, right?" He spread a cool, lazy smile across his face.

  "Right."

  The two men stood side by side next to the railing and watched the ship swerve toward shore. Tracy exhaled a long breath of relief, relaxing the stiff fingers tensed around her cane. She had to admit that she didn't much like Eric's three-against-the-world plan either, but she knew enough to trust him. Still, with the two of them fighting, this little mission was going to be even more difficult.

  "The whole place used to be on a sixteen hundred-foot hill, five miles from beach to castle. But now…" He shrugged. The ocean had swallowed most of what once was a hill. Lapping only a few hundred feet away from the buildings, the water swirled and paced, as if waiting hungrily for the rest of the shore.

  Five clumsily constructed docks floating on oil drums spread out into the water like a bony hand, far enough to allow ships to tie up without anchoring out to sea.